


Panic

by orphan_account



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Claustrophobia, F/M, Shameless Smut, lift - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Classic Malcolm and Nicola stuck in a lift, with some fun extra chapters I couldn't resist writing. Originally written for a prompt on Kinkmeme before I realised it had already been filled (whoops) enjoy anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

"Fuck." She's panicking, and Malcolm remembers all at once her stupidly mental aversion to small spaces. He hadn't pushed her in maliciously - he was only trying to get her to her fucking meeting on time, not that he was even going to get that for his troubles. He slams his fist against the emergency button again and listens for the tone that meant he was being listened to on the other side it.  
"Hurry the fuck up! If my minister has a fuckin' heart attack in here I will launch a media campaign against your fucking institution that'll make you jealous of Johnathan Ross and Russell fuckin' Brand!" The metallic voice wearily replies that they'll have it fixed as soon as they can and Malcolm mutters some more crass insults as he signs off. 

He becomes aware of her sharp intakes of breath at his side and turns to her.  
"Fer fuck's sake, Nic'la..." He trails off, the usual unmerciful tirade he had planned dissolving in his mouth as he sees her not even bothering to hide that she's on the verge of tears as she struggles to breathe. He tries again.  
"Calm the fuck down."  
Surprisingly that doesn't help, her eyes not even meeting his as her hand braces against the wall of the lift like she expects it to give way at any moment. Right. So. What was he supposed to do? How could he fix this when he didn’t even understand what was wrong?

“Look at me.” Nothing. “Nicky!” He steps forward and pulls her chin up so she has no choice but to meet his gaze - she blinks and he sees a tear escape from the corner of her eye and feels something clinch in his chest. Once he’s got her there she seems okay to look at him and listens as he asks: “What are you scared of?”  
“You know what I’m fucking scared of, Malcolm! You pushed me in here-”  
“I mean specifically,” he growls, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at him as he sees her fear, “righ’ now, righ’ here - what are you afraid of?” She swallows and looks away a second.  
“Being trapped,” she manages to force out of her constricted throat, “I’m afraid I won’t get out, I can’t stop thinking we won’t get out and-”  
“Okay, okay - Jesus Christ, woman - stop talking!” His voice isn’t actually unkind and it’s oddly comforting to have him shouting at her, his expression the same one he always had when he was planning out a solution to a problem.  
“Alright,” He says, finally, “close yer eyes.”  
“What?”  
“Just fuckin’ do it.” And she does. In the darkness of her own eyelids the walls seem to close in on her more and she’s about to open them again when she feels his hands cupping her face and stops in surprise, slightly terrified of having her skull between Malcolm Tucker’s palms. But it is a gentle grip and a moment later the touch of his forehead on hers gives her an odd feeling she’d never expected to experience in his company.

“Listen te me,” he says, in a voice that draws her into him, “yer not in a lift.”  
Her mouth opens indignantly and she’s about to open her eyes when he hisses, “No!”  
“Malcolm, this is ridiculous - it’s not going to help!”  
“Just fuckin’ try, arite? Shut up fer once in yer fuckin’ career an’ listen te me!” She huffs in response but keeps her eyes shut, and his answering long-suffering sigh blows warm breath across her face.  
“Righ’”, he says, “Where was I?”  
“Not in a lift, apparently.” She drawls, and feels his fingers flex around her head.  
“Oh yeah. No’ in a lift.” he declares it quite cheerily, like a new discovery.  
“So where are we?” she asks, playing along.  
“Uh…”  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake Malcolm-”  
“Shut up! I’m thinking.” Where would she feel safe? Well, how the fuck was he supposed to know? They hardly had many little tete-a-tetes about their happy places. All they ever really talked about was - ah.  
“We’re in your office.”  
“My office? Malcolm, I thought you were supposed to be calming me dow-”  
“Your office at number 10,” he says quietly, cutting her off.  
“Number 10?”  
“Yes...” - a pause for dramatic effect - “...Prime Minister.” He almost purrs, and for some reason a rush of warmth floods her body like a reflex and she hears her own sharp intake of breath in the quiet. Even in the dark of her own eyelids she can almost see his triumphant smirk.  
“Go on,” she half whispers and there’s a moment’s pause as he considers his next words, his thumbs stroking absent-mindedly across the skin of her cheeks.  
“We’ve just won the election,” Malcolm allows himself to suspend disbelief, “you’re jus’ admiring the liquor cabinet when I come in te congratulate ye on all your hard work.”  
“More like congratulate yourself,” and he’s surprised to hear the laughter in her voice. Good. This must be working.  
“Aye,” he allows, “Tha’ too.” Another pause. “Yer leaning against yer desk… like this,” She feels him step closer and allows herself to be guided backwards to the solid surface which some part of her already believed was her desk. “An’ ye look smug as anythin’ but I’ll forgive ye for it today.” She feels the corners of her mouth pull up.  
“I tell ye I jus’ saw yer predecessor scuttling away an’ gave him a few choice words of farewell.” Nicola snorts - now that she could believe. “You…”  
“Offer you a drink,” she interjects, and he examines her face a moment.  
“You offer me a drink,” he agrees, “an’... why no’?” He moves one hand from her face and she feels him lean it on the wall behind her, relaxing as she does, his body still a solidly warm presence close to hers.  
“So you pour us a measure each - from yer brand new liquor cabinet - an’ we clink our glasses tegether,” She almost hears it, “To Nic’la Murray, PM,” he toasts,  
“And Malcolm Tucker, spin doctor extraordinaire,” She answers - and there’s a pause where they would drink - her and Malcolm Tucker in her office at number 10.  
“So the hard work paid off,” he says, conversationally, “most of it mine, I should fuckin’ add.”  
“Oh no, Malcolm,” she replies, with an almost disapproving tone, “we both know that this is where the hard work begins.” He considers her, lines forming on her forehead even with her eyes shut and her face turning towards his hand.  
“Social mobility? Still?”  
“Of course, still, Malcolm - otherwise what was all this for?”  
“Well, I don’t know - I though’ ye migh’ have - “  
“What? Gotten distracted by all the mind games and bullshit? Forgotten why I wanted to get into politics in the first place?” She’s on the defensive now but he’s never been able to resist a good argument.  
“- reconsidered.” He finishes, “there are easier plans of action,” and she huffs at him, he can feel her glare through her closed lids as he looks down at her.  
“The people who needed help when I started still need help now - more actually, after what the last lot did to save their own arses. I’m going to make things better Malcolm, and you will help me.” She jabs a finger in his general direction and ends up pressing this new responsibility into his chest with a flat palm.  
“An’ why would I do tha’?” He asks, his voice teasing more than condescending, and she smiles slightly as she replies, instantly:  
“Because that’s what you were here to do too.” He feels his throat tighten and his chest suddenly compress at the simple statement - no matter how many times she jumps these odd insights into his character onto him, he’s never quite prepared for how exposed they make him feel. Maybe that’s why he says what he says next.  
“I could fuckin’ kiss you.” The words hang between them a moment and his lips press together a moment too late to save them. He watches the frown increase in intensity as she processes the information and then her lips part.  
“You’d never do that - you’d never say that - it wouldn’t be possible - none of this is possible - I’m in a lift - I’m in a fucking lift and I - “ Jesus Christ. She’s going to give herself an aneurysm. She’s remembering where she is. She’s panicking. _He’s_ panicking. She’s about to open her eyes and he does the only thing he can think to do. He kisses her.  
She makes a noise of surprise into his open mouth as the hand she had rested on his chest fists in the fabric of his shirt, and he waits for her to push him away, for the time he can buy her by distraction to end and for her to continue with her panic attack. He feels her fingers flex. He waits.

She pulls him toward her, her lips moving under his and he damn near forgets everything when she uses her other hand to move their bodies closer together. Christ. This was - unexpected. Right. New strategy. He angles her face to deepen the kiss and groans as her mouth opens to let him. He follows her cue and pushes off the wall to put his hand on her hip, pulling them to press flush against his and hearing her gasp as she twists away from the kiss.  
“Keep yer eyes closed,” He growls into her ear and she has just enough time to say “what-?” before he’s kissing her neck, and she’s moaning softly into the silence of the lift. The lift. He’s still trying to distract her from the lift. He feels her tensing under him.  
“No,” he warns, moving back up to very un-Malcolmly feather kisses over her face, “don’t think abou’ it.”  
She’s about to tell him that she can’t help but think about it when all thoughts of _it_ are banished from her mind completely.  
“Malcolm!” She gasps.  
“Tha’s righ’,” He says soothingly, “think abou’ this instead…”  
“But -”  
“Can I trust you te keep yer eyes shut or do I need to use my tie as a fuckin’ blindfold?”  
He catches her little exhalation, and the way her teeth press into her lower lip.  
“Oh, you dirty li’le thing,” He breathes, and she feels her mouth open to defend herself - although his voice was coloured with pleasure than anything else - but when his hands move lower on her body all that escapes is another soft moan of his name. Holy something - this… this is ridiculous. It can’t be happening. Obviously she’s already passed out and is currently in one of the vividest wet dreams of her life. And oh, it is vivid. His long talented fingers, that thickly accented voice, the sound of their panting…  
“Nic’la? This okay?” She registers that he’s paused in his ministrations, slightly out of breath she’s almost juveniley proud to think, and she considers the question.  
“No.” She admits, and feels his body tense against hers, hears him mutter something like an apology, wishes she could see his face, feels the heat of him begin to move away -  
“butkeepgoing,” she lets out in a rushed breath, reaching for him in the dark of her own eyelids and then relaxing into him as he covers her mouth with his own.  
“Yer sure?” He manages to get out between kisses, and she drapes her arms around his neck as she groans frustratedly.  
“Yes, yes - I’m sure - just fucking get on with it,” She’s kissing down his neck and he feels a wave of desire over take him as she grazes her teeth along the hard ridge of his collar bone. He presses their bodies flush against each other and backs her up completely into the wall of the lift, thrusting his knee possessively between her legs and humming a small noise of approval as she arches into him. His hands return to the waistband of her knickers under her skirt and he teases the skin a moment before slipping his fingers inside and stroking his fingers through her slick folds.  
“Christ, Nicky…” He mutters into her ear, “so fuckin’ wet…” She presses her hip against the hard bulge in his trousers and he lets out a half groan half laugh. “Point well made,” he said, “if only you could do as well in debates that actually fuckin’ matter - _Jesusfuckin’christnic’la_ -” He thrusts automatically into her hand as she cups him through his trousers.  
"I said, get on with it."  
"Yes, ma'am." He manages to choke out, and he's using his thumb to flick lightly over the throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs as he slowly slides his fingers into her. She lets out a whimper and her muscles clench around his fingers making him groan as he thrusts deeper, scissoring them inside her.  
"Fuck," he says into her neck, "tight little cunt-" she gasps but really what else could she have expected from Malcolm F. Tucker? - "-how sweet would it feel around my cock?" Her internal muscles ripple around him of their own volition and he groans.  
"Why don't we find out?" She hears herself say, and is surprised that she doesn't instantly regret it. And there's no embarrassment either - she supposes it's because he's already seen her worse. He rests his forehead against hers again and groans softly:  
"I fuckin' wish..."  
"Well why not?" She's annoyed that she can't attempt to read the meaning of his following silence through her closed lids.  
"Not in here," he finally says, quietly, "not now." And Nicola understands, blushing, unable to speak-  
"You on the other hand-" and then he's using his fingers to devastating effect, filling her up and teasing her clit and she can't do anything but half collapse against him, weak-kneed, and let the pleasure build up in her, letting him play her like a musical instrument, moaning softly into his ear and then-

the lift judders and his thumb rubs hard fast circles into her clit and he hooks his fingers inside her and he's thrusting deep into her again and she's coming oh, _she's coming on his fingers._  
“My name - “ She hears his voice in her ear, hot breath on her skin, “- say my name,” She’s too far gone to question it, and anyway, it’s seems so natural to do so, to bury her face in the crook of his neck and say, like it’s the last prayer she’ll ever say-  
“ _Malcolm!_ ” and his fingers keep her at the peak forever, even as the lift comes back to life around her and he presses her body back into his as she all but collapses against him, just as the speakers to her left announce that the doors are opening.

She snaps back to reality but almost loses herself again as she opens her eyes to meet his unwavering stare as her licks his fingers clean in one smooth motion that she’ll dream about for years. For a second the steel of his gaze makes her wonder if he’s angry at her, and then, as she registers the approach of footsteps, she catches a smug wink before he pulls her body back to his.  
“Took yer time!” He shouts at the twenty-something who has just rounded the corner, “the minister almost fainted!”  
She hears a flustered apology begin through the solidity of his body but feels him shift her against his shoulder as he cuts the kid off.  
“Save the shit speel for convincin’ yer girlfriend te let ye get anywhere hear her withou’ a fuckin’ diving suit on - take her bag an’ run yer arse up te room four, ye pubescent cunt.”  
“Yessir,” Nicola can almost smell the smoke from his heels as he speeds away from the no doubt formidable power of Malcolm’s best dirt-under-my-fuckin’-shoes look.  
She pulls away from him and smooths out her skirt, bracing herself for an awkward and/or painful conversation. She took a deep breath-  
“Fix yer fuckin’ hair as well - you look like a used bog brush,” He orders, scanning her assessingly, and then when she didn’t move, “Jesus Christ, do I have te do everythin’ maself?” He huffs as he brings his hands up to her face, ignoring the sharp breath she takes in when his fingers brush her skin as he sweeps her hair behind her ears, using two firm motions to smooth the frizz from the top of her head. “As impressive as yer dying trout impression is, Nic’la - I think ye might like te close yer fuckin’ mouth before we go te the meeting.”  
“The meeting?” She asks stupidly, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head in indignation.  
“Yes, the fuckin’ meeting, Nic’la - the whole fuckin’ reason we’re in this arsehole of a buildin’” She stares at him.  
“What? The fuck’re ye lookin’ at me like that for?”  
“Malcolm, we just- you just- and-”  
“And now I’m askin’ ye te do yer fuckin’ job, yeah. D’ye mind at least pretendin’ yer a fuckin’ professional?”  
“Professional?!” She fists her hands at her sides and feels the blood rush to her face.  
“Yes,” He hisses, “a professional.” And he’s walking away from her before she has a chance to say anything else, his long strides meaning that there are already too many people around to confront him by the time she catches up with him.

“Alright, ladies an’ gents - our apologies fer the delay but it was yer fuckin’ building’s fault -” She sighs and plasters a smile on her face as she walks into the room.

***

It goes fine - she messes up a statement once but Malcolm saves her, passing it off as a joke and making another snarky reference to the ‘stress’ she’d undergone that day. When the meeting is over, they leave (via the stairs, thankyouverymuch) and wait for Elvis on the corner of the street. Nicola glances up to see him glaring into the distance, arms folded across his chest.  
“Malcolm?” He looks around at her and quirks an eyebrow in response, “are you angry at me?” He frowns.  
“Angry? Fer what?” She shakes her head, looking down at her shoes.  
“I don’t know - I just - if you felt like you had to- to do what you did -” She’s cut off by the bark of his laugh and her head snaps up to see him thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.  
“Ye didn’t fuckin’ force me inte anythin’, Nic’la, tha’ wasn’t assault - stop makin’ a sewage plant out of a turd.” She looks at him incredulously for a moment and then sighs.  
“Thanks, Malcolm,” she says, tone heavy with sarcasm, “A turd? Is that how good it was?” He’s already gone back to looking into the distance but she can see his face move into smirk.  
“Yeah, well I didn’t ge’ te cum, did I?” She ignores her first instinct to blush herself into silence.  
“It’s not my fault you’re biologically wired to be indiscreet about your orgasms, Malcolm.” He scoffs.  
“Aye, an’ yours was real fuckin’ discreet - it’s a good thing we were in a metal box, love, ‘cause-”  
“Oh, as if we would have ever been anywhere else -”  
“An’ what’s that supposed te mean?”  
“It means, Malcolm, that there’s no way you would have done that if it wasn’t your only option…” She trails off again, thinking about the implications, and he rolls his eyes without her seeing, because he can almost see the guilt rising up in her again.  
“Which brings me back to the angry thing.” She continues, “I’m sorry you felt like that was your only option. I know you don’t want me, under normal circumstances, and I didn’t want -”  
She’s suddenly jerked back into his all too familiar body, taking a moment to feel his hands holding her hips flush to his, and everything that that exposes. They both stay still a moment, as she registers the hard evidence pressing against her stomach.  
“Does it feel like I don’ fuckin’ wan’ ye?” He growls softly, eyes pinning her down as much as his grip is, and she stares up into the harsh lines of his face, expecting the fear - _not_ expecting the rush of answering heat in her own body as she sees the desire burning unchecked in his eyes. 

She doesn’t realise she’s been holding her breath until he releases her, stepping back and returning to his previous position, leaving her gasping. She thinks she hears something unsteady in his own intakes of breath but can’t see his face to check if he’s any more affected than he’s letting on. Well, fuck him. 

No really. Fuck him.

She closes the distance between them in two quick strides and catches the shock on his face a split second before she uses his tie to pull him down and slam their lips together. She ends the kiss almost as quickly as she began it, but keeps his gaping face close with her hand fisted around the slik that wove around his neck.  
“You don’t get to decide when and where we do this,” she hisses at him, mouth set. His only response is to close his and raise his eyebrows, which she takes as an agreement. And then he’s staring at her mouth, eyes hooded, pupils dilated... fuck.

She pulls him in again, feeling him respond eagerly, his tongue emerging to push her lips apart, stroking the roof of her mouth and groaning as she runs her hands through his hair. She pulls away again.

“Call Sam -” she gasps, letting go of his tie to put a few steps distance between them.

“What?” he asks, moving to follow her but stopping when she raises a warning hand.

“Call her, and tell her we won’t be coming back for a while,” She watches the realisation dawn on his face, sees his happy anticipation, the way he swallows.

“And what,” he asks softly, “will we be doing instead?” She feels the corner of her mouth move up in response to the laughter in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know. But it will happen at my house, which happens to be five minutes away and empty.”

“Oh?” And he’s already pulling out his Blackberry, holding down the first speed dial and bringing it to his ear.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, don't judge me.

They’re about halfway to her house when an idea takes her over, and spotting an alley, she grabs his wrist and pulls him into it.

“Wha-”

“Shh.” She says, and she’s already down on her knees in front of him, reaching for his fly.

“Jesus Christ” He hisses, “are you mental? Passers-by, the press -”

“Anyone could see us, yes,” she says, as she reaches into his boxers to hold his cock - causing him to groan involuntarily as she met his eyes, “and it turns you on.” She didn’t realise she knew it until right that moment. Of course, Malcolm Tucker loved making a show of his power, loved an audience. His mouth opens as though to deny it but they’d both felt him twitch in her hand. She grins up at him and he thinks he might actually come there and then.

“Nic’la…” He’s adopted a pleading tone she decides she likes, and she keeps her movements light and teasing. Her hands move up and down him, just barely touching his skin, feeling him try not to squirm under her.

“Can you imagine what they’d think?” She says softly, her breath fluttering over his sensitive skin as he watched her intently. “You with a minister on her knees in front of you… me sucking you off… letting you fuck my mouth.” He groans at the last one, head falling back against the wall as he closes his eyes

“Nic’la, please,” He says, hand coming up to her head - not pushing, but she knows he’s having to make an effort not to.   
“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely…” she half whispers, and then she’s holding him firmly in one hand, bracing the other next to him as she leans forwards, taking his swollen head into her mouth.

“Fuck, that’s pretty,” She hears him mutter, and looks up to see his hooded gaze fixed on where her lips wrapped around him. She lets him go with a pop, but runs her thumb over the slit before he has time to complain about the loss of sensation.

“You like watching me suck you off?” She says, and the matter-of-fact tone only serves to make him hotter.

“Fuck, yes,” he says, hand stroking her hair, “mouth looks good ‘round ma cock.” She notes that he’s already lost the ability to talk in full sentences and holds back a smirk.

“You can keep talking - and pull my hair if you want - but no moving yet, okay?” He nods, his hand desperately trying to persuade her to come back to him, and she takes pity on him, guiding him back into her mouth. 

“That’s it, yeah,” he says, taking to his new role remarkably well, “I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped ‘round ma cock.” She moans around him, and the vibrations make him fist his hand in her hair, muscles tensing in the effort not to buck into her. She loosens herself and takes more of him in, until she feels him hit the back of her throat.  
“Fuck, that’s good,” he pants, as she swallows around him, “such a good girl, so good at suckin’ ma cock fuckin’ love it-” He trails off as he feels her tongue swirling around him as she begins to suck him in earnest, and Christ, he needs to move.   
As if she’s read his mind, the hand that was braced on the wall moves to his hip, pushing it towards her. He looks down, trying to make himself articulate.  
“I can move?” She moans an affirmative around his cock and he groans in relief, weaving both hands through her hair to hold her still as he gently bruises her lips with shallow thrusts.  
“Nicky -” He chokes out, “Fuckin’ gonna -” She sucks him harder, hollowing out her cheeks and flicking her tongue over his head, feeling his rhythm break down, his control disappear as he thrusts once- twice- three times before ejaculating into her mouth, groaning her name with something like relief as he rides the orgasm out, moving just slightly inside her while she swallows his cum, milking him with her sucking and letting some of it dribble down her chin, knowing he’ll like the image as he looks down at her.  
“Fuck, look at ye, with my cum on yer face -” He breathes, before he can’t talk any more, watching her as she lets his cock fall from her mouth and cleans her face, getting up and brushing off her knees. He doesn’t even bother tucking himself away before he drags her to him, giving her long, heated, languid kiss, the taste of himself on her tongue just turning him on more.  
“Thanks,” He says when they finally break apart, and she smiles.  
“Now we’re even, right?”  
“Aye, but if you think we’re done -” She laughs.  
“Don’t be ridiculous Malcolm,” She leans closer and he hisses as he feels her fingers around his cock again, “I’m still very curious about how that would feel in other places,” She bites her lip and his eyes zero in on the movement, hooded as she leans closer…  
“House, then!” She says, and is already halfway out of the alley before he remembers how to move again, tucking himself back into his pants before following her.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand - an ending that distracted me quite effectively from my studies. You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to break it up a bit but hang tight for Quatro

They manage, at last, to get to her house, and Nicola’s hands are shaking as she fumbles with her key, slotting it into the lock she’d changed three months ago, after she’d finally kicked James out. She hurries in, looking to either side of her even though she knows it’s stupid to worry about someone seeing them after what she’s just done. She’s about three steps into the hall before she realises something’s wrong. There’s no footsteps or warmth behind her, she registers. Malcolm’s not following. She turns, frowning.

He’s standing in the doorway, looking for all the world like a vampire, incapable of crossing the threshold into her residence. She notices the way his hands are shoved into his pockets, the shape of them hinting at clenched fists behind the thick material, and her frown intensifies.  
“Are you not coming in, Malcolm?” She tries to keep her voice light but they have both heard that tone before. Countless disastrous interviews had featured it. She is rubbish at hiding panic. He seems to register it and his eyes focus on hers, blinking like he’s only just realised what’s happening. She watches him closely as he presses his lips together in a half-smile that, on anyone else, Nicola might have described as sheepish.  
“Sorry,” he says, and the word sounds strange in his voice, “it’s just…” his eyes are fixed on the mirror she has hanging on the wall, and she glances over at the two tubs of cream sat on the little shelf in front of it, the little comb she had used that morning to fix up her hair as she left, the lipstick she’d rejected for being too dark lying, lidless, across it. Little signs of domesticity. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring him here.

“Malcolm,” she says quietly, and his eyes move slowly to hers; a man dragging his gaze from the wreckage of a car crash. Or one waiting to happen. She walks back over to him, warily, like she’s approaching some frightened woodland creature. Her hand moves to hold his elbow. He follows the movement with his gaze and she thinks how strange it is that this small contact can feel new and awkward, even after all they’ve done in the past few hours.  
“It’s okay,” his eyes meet hers again, “I’m not asking for…” she trails off as she catches the sharpening of his eyes, and he looks more like himself.  
“I never said I was offerin’.” She resists the urge to roll her eyes. This is so stupid.  
“I’m not accusing you of having actual human emotions, Malcolm, calm down.” She lets go of his elbow and moves her hands to her own hips.  
“I am perfectly fuckin’ calm, sweethear-”  
“Don’t call me-”  
“I’ll call you what I fuckin’-”  
“No you bloody well will not, Malcolm, and if you think I brought you here to be talked to like-”  
“Then why did you bring me here?” And there it is. That thing she doesn’t know how to name, shimmering behind the surface of his words. She stares at him. Is it really just the setting of her home that’s suddenly made him so prickly and uncertain? Was this how much the suggestion of… anything scared him? Was this Malcolm Tucker… panicking? It seems so odd, so out of order. She remembers preparing for an awkward conversation after the lift, the way he’d thrown her with his business-like demeanor. The way he’d stopped her guilt-ridden ramblings outside. Right. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine, then.

Nicola lets her stance relax, moves a little closer to him and rests both hands on his chest, watching carefully as his expression goes from hostile to confused. She steps even closer, so her toes are touching the threshold, moves one hand up the column of his throat to cup the back of his neck, and feels him lean in, ever so slightly, like a reflex response. She makes sure to look unblinkingly into his grey eyes.  
“I brought you here,” she says softly into the little air between them, “because I want you.” She doesn’t look away as she sees him swallow, and takes a breath before delivering her final blow, “and I want to fuck your brains out.”

He doesn’t stand a chance.

It takes almost nothing to close the space between them, and the force with which he does it takes them both at least two steps back, him finally crossing into her house. She hears the sound of him slamming the door closed behind him and smiles into the kiss, feeling him do the same in response, even as his arms wrap around her and pull her body closer to his. The hand on the back of his neck slides up into his hair almost of its own volition and she feel a warm satisfaction as he growls against her mouth in response to her light tugs. It’s stupid, how much she wants this. How much she wants him.  
His hands declare how reciprocated the feelings are as they move restlessly over the top of her clothes, tracing the curves of her waist and hips over and over again as the kiss deepens. She breaks from the kiss and gasps softly when his fingers slip under her shirt to touch the bare skin of her stomach and he pauses, his thumbs stroking gently over the indented lines on her hips that betray her maternity.  
“Alright?” He asks softly, a little out of breath. She sees the way his cheeks are slightly flushed, the disarray of his hair. Instead of answering, she pulls him into her again, locking their mouths together as she walks back into the wall, shoving his heavy coat off of his shoulders and running her hands over his wiry muscled arms.  
He slots a leg between hers and uses his hand to angle her face up to him, before trailing his lips over the line of her jaw and attacking her throat with open mouthed kisses that leave her gasping his name. His deft fingers make light work of the buttons on her shirt and he pulls back slightly a moment to fully appreciate the sight of her full breasts in the lavender lace of her bra. She knows he can see the way her nipples have hardened and has her suspicions confirmed when he cups her breasts and sweeps his thumbs over the stiff peaks. She hears herself let out a little whimper and feels her lungs cease functioning as his eyes meet hers again, so intensely heated she thinks she might combust.  
“I think I’ve had enough of fuckin’ against walls fer one day,” he says pointedly, and she feels an odd mixture of affection and pride as she realises what he’s doing. Asking her to take him to her bed, purposefully counteracting his earlier hostility towards being invited into her living space. Her mouth pulls up in a grin.  
“Oh, I don’t know, you seemed like you were enjoying it at the time,” He growls in response to her sweetly innocent tone and makes her yelp as he pinches a nipple between his fingers.  
“I need you lying naked in a bed within the next thirty seconds or I’m gonna fuckin’ burst out of my own fuckin’ skin.” There’s a note of aggressive desperation in his voice that means she almost believes him, and, without another word, she leads him by the wrist up to her bedroom.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> QUEUE SMUT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we please just ignore my pathetic attempts to crowbar the word panic in everywhere, please? Thanks

The moment they walk through the door he uses her grip on his wrist to pull her around and cover her mouth with his, swallowing her moan as his hands strip what’s left of her clothes from her body and cup her breasts, running his thumbs over the nipples. He kisses down her neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark at her pulse point and moving back a moment to admire his work.  
“There ye go,” he says, voice dark and low and oh so sexy, “little something to remind ye tenight…”  
“Malcolm,” She breathes softly, and his eyes pin hers with that gorgeous smoulder again.  
“That’s what yer gonna do, isn’t it?” He says, unrelenting, “tenight, yer gonna lay in tha’ bed an’ yer gonna think abou’ me fuckin’ ye an’ yer gonna make yerself cum imaginin’ it’s me.” She can’t catch her breath to answer.  
“Isn’t it?” It’s more demanding now, and she knows he wants a response.  
“Yes,” she manages, trying not to think about how much she needs him to carry on.  
“Say it,” he commands, and then, when she looks confused, “say ‘yes Malcolm I’m going to make myself come imagining it’s you.’” Christ. He pinches a nipple between his fingers again.  
“Yes, Malcolm,” she gasps, “I’m going to lie down and touch myself and use my fingers to make myself come and I’ll imagine it’s you-” He descends on the breast he’s injured, muttering “good lass” before taking the soft peak into his mouth and sucking gently, tonguing the nipple. She remembers what he’d ordered she do in the lift; “-and I’ll say your name over and over again when I’m doing it and I’ll scream it when I come on my own fingers-” He growls savagely against her skin and the hands on her waist push her back roughly. She lands on the bed with her legs fallen explicitly apart, looking at him in shock - had she done something wro-?  
His mouth is on hers again, the kisses rougher and hotter than before, him pushing her backwards until she’s lying on the bed with her knees hung over the edge, arching up into his mouth and hands, moaning as he rubs the hard length of himself against her hip.  
“Christ, yer a fuckin’ kinky one, aren’t ye?” He says, as he begins to move down her body again, “firs’ wantin’ te be blindfolded, then givin’ me a blowjob in an alley an’ now with that fuckin’ fithy mouth of yours-”  
“I hardly think you’re one to be talking about filthy mouths, Malcolm,” she manages to get out, even as her until now ignored breast receives the attention the other had. His mouth is trailing down lower now and he lifts his head for a second to smirk wickedly at her.  
“It’s about te get a lot filthier,” He says, and it takes her a moment to figure out what he means while he leaves another love bite on her hip, the realisation hitting as he begins to move towards the juncture of her thighs.  
“Malcolm!” She gasps, as he kisses her inner thigh, “you don’t have to- I mean-”  
“Stop fuckin’ talking like I’m doin’ things I don’ want te do, Nicky,” comes the muffled reply, as he doesn’t even bother raising his head.  
“I’m sorry I didn’t- haven’t, you know… in while. I wasn’t expecting-”  
“Does it look like I fuckin’ care?” It’s not a question that warrants a response as his mouth finally finally covers her heat, that clever tongue moving through her folds with devastating skill, causing her to buck up into him. He lays an arm over her hips and moves away for a moment. “I wanna hear ye talkin’.” His voice is low and urgent. “Tell me how it feels an’ then tell me yer gonna cum and then do exactly what you said ye would and say my name, alright?”  
“Yes. Yeah, okay, Malcolm,” anything to get his mouth back there.  
He grins darkly at her again before returning to where she needs him. At first she forgets her instructions, lost in the feeling of his tongue flicking against her clit and his lips sliding against her wetness, then he lets his teeth clip her and she cries out.  
“Fuck, Malcolm!” Her hands reach down to grip his hair, and he makes a rolling sound from his throat, pushing her knees further apart to settle himself more comfortably between them.  
“Good?” He growls, in the momentary separation, and she almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the question.  
“God, yes, Malcolm - so good,” She bucks up into him as he brings his free hand down to her, stroking the pad of his thumb down over her hood in a painfully slow rhythm, his tongue circling the opening further down, purposefully teasing her.  
“Please, Malcolm,” she whines, knowing he’ll like the tone of that, embarrassing as it is.  
“Please what?” He mutters, and she feels almost on the verge of tears when she replies, in one long rush of breath: “For fuck’s sake Malcolm, please, fuck me, touch me properly, eat me out, make me come, something, please!” He moans against her in approval and she feels the vibrations of it all the way to her core, grinding down on his face as he starts fucking her with his tongue, fingers rubbing over her clit at an unforgiving pace making her moan his name again as her fingers fist in his hair. Suddenly his fingers replace his tongue, and Nicola feels herself being stretched open and filled up, his lips moving to capture the throbbing bundle of nerves above his hand, rolling them over it and pressing and squeezing and sucking and _oh fuck._   
“Malcolm- “ she gasps, writhing under him uncontrollably, “Malcolm, I’m going to- “ He seems, somehow, to gain fervour from her words, thrusting hard into her and finding her sweet spot as he doubles down on her clit, sucking hard and pressing his tongue unrelentingly against her again and again and again and again until-  
“MALCOLM!” Her whole body arches up and curls around him as her orgasm takes her over, muscles locking painfully as she forces his whole face flush against her heat with her hands, involuntarily grinding down on him, thighs trapping him of their own volition. He doesn’t seem phased at all, his hands coming up to hold her legs apart, still working her hard, prolonging the pleasure for what feels like forever, keeping her whimpering nonsensically. His tongue is still lapping at her when she finally begins to come down, the over-sensitised flesh sending waves of pleasure-pain back through her again and again as her body goes limp, falling back onto the bed.  
He presses one last firm kiss onto her trembling flesh and then trails his mouth back up her body, climbing onto the bed to share the taste of her, her tongue moving clumsily against his as she continues to fight for breath.  
“Malcolm,” she finally manages to get out, “That was-”, she can’t find the words but he hums his agreement into the crook of her neck anyway as he carries on kissing her.  
“You’re so fuckin’ hot when you come,” he murmurs into her ear, surprising her, “so responsive an’ loud with yer fuckin’ yerself on my face and pullin’ my hair…” He pulls back from her shoulder, “I’m never gonna be able te stop thinkin’ about tha’ when I’m pullin’ maself off.” His heavily hooded gaze is fixed on hers again as she pulls him in for another kiss, expressing quite succinctly how she feels about that particular image. Him in his office working late, unzipping his trousers and leaning back in that leather chair of his, rhythmically moving his fist over his cock thinking about her before finally coming into his own hand with her name on his lips.  
She moans as she moves to push him down into the bed, straddling his hips and wasting no time before sliding her naked heat over the hardness bulging through his trousers, biting her lip as her clit makes contact with the cool metal of his zip. He stares at her, open mouthed, as she rolls her hips over him again, eyes closed in ecstasy.  
“I could just come like this,” She sighs, still moving languorously, “I could just keep fucking myself through your clothes and just… come.” Her eyelids lift a fraction to look up at him, his chest moving with shallow pants, eyes fixed on where her teeth pressed into the plump swell of her lower lip. “What do you think?”  
“Nic’la…” It’s a low voice, a rough voice, with a hint of warning in it. She smiles.  
“Yes, Malcolm?” She shifts a little further up his body and rocks herself against his pelvis, causing him to hiss as his fingers latch onto her hips.  
“Nic’la, I need te be inside ye. I need te be fuckin’ ye righ’ the fuck now,” He says it through clenched teeth, eyes burning holes into her. She stops moving and sits back on his thighs, hearing him let out what she could swear was a whimper.  
“Take your shirt off.” To her surprise, he obeys immediately, pulling the thing off his body like it’s been burning him. She leans down to press an open mouthed kiss over one nipple before pulling herself off him completely leaving him arching into nothing. She gestures to the bottom half of his body.  
“All off.”  
She barely sees him move before he’s sighing in relief as he frees his swollen cock, kicking off his trousers and pants and giving himself a quick pass over with his hand to provide some kind of friction to the aching flesh. He meets her eyes again as her heated gaze moves back from his cock to his face.  
“Fuck me.”  
He doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s laying on her back in an instant, his hands pinning her shoulders down as their mouths meet in a heated kiss. The fingers of one trail back down between her legs to stroke her again as he spreads her legs for him, but all thoughts of teasing vanish as her own soft hand moves over his shaft, making him hiss into her neck. He brings his own hand over to join hers and doesn’t break eye contact for a second as they guide him to her entrance.

“Shit.”  
“What?”  
“Protection?” He sounds like it’s killing him to say it, and to be honest, so close to being where they both need to be she understands completely - what she is confused about is the panic.  
“Do you really think I’m that stupid, Malcolm?” Nicola’s hand is still pushing, still trying to make him move.  
“What?” He’s having trouble concentrating.  
“I’m on the pill, Malcolm.” _Please, just get on with it._   
“The pill?” He sounds confused.  
“Yes, Malcolm, the fucking pill - the contraceptive - I’m on it, so you’re not going to get me pregnant. Now will you please, please just _move_?”  
A pause, then his uncertain eyes meet hers, half-smiling.  
“Yeah?” She tries not to think that she could probably fall in love with that little note of sweetness in his voice.  
“Yeah.”  
They both moan as he pushes forward, his cock sliding through her wetness and filling her up in one long stroke. He pauses a moment to get used to the feel of her wet heat enveloping him but is brought crashing back to reality as she thrusts up against him, whimpering.  
“Fuck.”  
He brings one of her legs up to his hip and begins thrusting hard and fast into her, grunting every time she arches up, her heel digging into his back in an effort to make him give her more.  
“Malcolm,” she moans, and he lowers his mouth to her ear.  
“Yeah, you like sayin’ my name, don’t ye?” She hears herself let out a whimper, “Ye fuckin’ love it an’ ye love gettin’ fucked by me an’ ye love listenin’ te me talk ‘cause yer such a dirty little lass.” His voice is harsh, and she can feel his hot breath against her ear. “Ye love ma cock inside ye, don’t ye? Like being’ filled up an’ fucked.”  
“Yes, Malcolm,” she moans, hands coming up to claw at his back, and then, because she knows he wants to hear it: “I love getting fucked by you- I love your big hard cock inside me fucking me, Malcolm, I want more-”  
Some strange animalistic noise escapes from him and he bites down hard on her shoulder as he hikes her other leg around him so she has nothing to brace against but him, her limbs wrapped around his torso as she writhes against him, their hips colliding hard enough to bruise as she feels the knot in her body tighten.  
“Nic’la,” He growls, and she manages to open her eyes to look at him, seeing the desperation in his face, “are ye-?” She makes an indecisive noise and they both shift slightly, the beauty of the new angle revealing itself instantly as she bucks up involuntarily into him as he finds her core again. He feels her internal muscles flutter around him and groans, reaching between them to rub at her clit as her fucks her harder.  
“Malcolm,” she cries out, heels pressed so hard into his back he thinks she might leave indents, “Malcolm, almost- ” she’s panting now, eyes scrunched up as he pounds into her, “need-”  
He presses his thumb harder into her clit and then, in a voice that leaves no room for argument, orders: “Come for me.”  
Her body arches up impossibly high for impossibly long, and he feels her walls ripple along his length as he continues thrusting, the sound of her calling his name through her orgasm setting him over the edge. He’s thrusting into her wet heat without rhythm or finesse as she comes around him, the constant pressure of his digit against the little sensory bundle at her core keeping her milking him as he spurts long and hard into her, calling her name over and over like a prayer as he spends himself, before his body finally gives way and he collapses half on top of her.  


They lie there for eternities, it feels like. Nicola would barely be able to remember her own name if it wasn’t for the fact that the sound of him saying it is still lingering in her ears. As it is she thinks he might be tracing the shape of it over her skin, his fingertips trailing over sweat-dampened stomach as they enjoy this moment of respite. She turns her head and presses her lips to the top of his head briefly, hearing him sigh in response. The best thing about this, she thinks, is that neither of them - not even a little bit - are panicking.


End file.
